Camp Of The Immortal

Joshua Hu, 8th Grader || 9.12.18

An old woman of about seventy years old sat on her rocking chair outside on her porch of her aged house in New Orleans, Louisiana. A young teen of thirteen years old looked to the river, a slight breeze blowing his short hair around. The boy held a young golden tabby tiger cub in his arms, as it purred softly with each stroke.

The old woman had scraggy grey and white hair. Her brown face was wrinkled and obviously aged. Her unusual grey spotted blue eyes were clouded in cornea. She wore an old ripped apron and an overused and stained settler dress of the nineteenth century. Weirdly enough, she wore a torn pair of socks, but no shoes. She shifted nervously in her rocking chair, her feet hardly touching the wooden planks on the ancient porch.

The boy had brown hair and ash grey eyes. His tanned skin and minor to major sunburns told you how much time he spent at the beach. He wore a white tank top, a pair of swim shorts, and a pair of thick brown leather sandals. He leaned on the porch and looked out to the sunset

The golden tabby tiger looked about a couple months old with a light yellow orange coat, dark orange stripes, and a pure white underbelly and muzzle. It sat calmly, its limeish yellow eyes gleaming across the shore.

Crickets chirped soundly as the sun slowly sank in the river below. When everything is calm and when the fireflies were out, the old woman shudder, muttered something, and suddenly rose off her peeling rocker. She walked briskly into the house as the young teen watched her and followed the woman in the old single pen home. He let the small Bengal tiger cub follow him into the home.

Inside the house was a single room that was the living room. The room was covered in dust, spider webs, and it had a particular mildewy smell the boy, the tiger, and the woman knew so well. Broken vases and glass particles of a glass display case littered the small, north corner, the shards laid there for countless years. There was a soiled standard bed in one corner. The mattress was dirty and the blankets weren’t and a pile of ratty old blankets on the floor. The carpet draped on the ancient wood floor sat sloppily like usual.

The boy whispered as soft as a rare summer breeze. “Aunt Joie, where did you go?”

“Over here Daniel, over here.” came a hushed voice

The Daniel followed to where he heard his aunt’s voice. He looked everywhere in the small 16x16 home, but couldn’t find her. He remembered the carpet being moved and her lifted the semi-heavy textile up. Dust flew up in the air, scattering everywhere.

As the dust cleared up, Daniel saw a sealed concrete door with a large wrought iron handle in front of him. He reached his right hand out to grab the handle, gripped its surface firmly, and pulled the heavy door open with ease. The door would have taken at least a jackhammer and ten men to pull out, but it was easy for one 13 year old kid.

He looked down, his dark ash colored eyes narrowed to glance at the dark stairway. A torch was hung up on a rusted iron torch holder. He grabbed the torch and headed down stairs.

The carpet collapsed on top of the door and the dark grey door closed slowly behind Daniel. He ignored the loud thunk and continued to walk down. A faint dripping of water was constantly getting louder as he got closer to the bottom.

Finally, the stairs stopped and a huge titanium door with mysterious blue runes ran along its surface. A hand plate was in the middle of it. Daniel dropped the torch and placed his left hand on the plate. The plate whirled to life, the blue rune marks glowed dimly as the door opened slowly.

Inside, Daniel saw a giant room lit up with candles everywhere. Books, papers, notes, and a crystal ball sat messily around Aunt Joie. She looked towards him and said,” We found one like us.”